Why So Sirius?
by Heart of a Slytherin
Summary: AU: Non-Book Compliant. When Bruce Wayne's fundraiser is interrupted by a madman called the Joker, a green-eyed waiter steps up to the plate to defend Gotham's elite from the man who used to be his godfather. Meanwhile a jaded playboy, tired of being hunted by those he saves, will find something truly worth fighting for, even until his last breath. Eventual Harry/Bruce.
1. Chapter I: The Dogfather

Why So Sirius

By: Heart of a Slytherin

Revised January 19, 2013

It was yet another outrageously expensive fundraiser at billionaire Bruce Wayne's mansion. Bruce had been impressed by Harvey Dent's idealism, and he knew his offer to raise money for Dent's campaign would be taken with zeal. The who's who were all in attendance, rubbing elbows, and pretending to care about each other when all they really wanted was to punch each other in the face. Smartly dressed waiters were discreetly carrying trays of glasses of expensive champagne and dry white wine and small, bite sized Hors d'oeuvres.

It was quite unexpected when the Joker crashed the party, as Bruce hadn't thought that the mass murderer would have had the balls to attack such rich and influential people in his own home. Quickly taking action, he found Dent and shoved him into a small room so he could not be found and killed, before rushing to don his body suit.

This had to end.

It is only a few minutes into his thieving attack and yet the Joker had scared everyone into submission whilst his lackeys were busy ripping the expensive jewelry from both the men and women attending, waving their guns into the faces of the scared elite. The Joker is ranting and raving like the madman he clearly is when he hears a quiet baritone saying, "Why so serious, Sirius?"

He quickly spun around, without a smile on his face except for the gruesome one carved into his skin and his gaze quickly settled on a young man standing behind him with clean cut, but wild black hair and brilliant green eyes watching him cautiously and curiously. By his attire, Joker quickly deduced that this is a waiter, one who seemingly had the guts to stand up to him… he would be shown his place, and quickly.

A small grimacing smile graced his scarred face before he sing-songs a response. "I'm _so_ sorry. Did you say something little boy?" Joker mockingly asked before suddenly lunging forward and grabbed the young man's chin, tilting his head up and to the side before pressing a gun to his throat.

To the surprise of the ladies and gentlemen around them, the waiter doesn't look the least bit intimidated and instead replied softly, "Going to kill me Sirius?"

The Joker stills and tilts his own head curiously to the side and if the situation hadn't been so damn frightening, he would have looked like a confused dog, "Where did you hear that name boy? Answer quickly or I'll blow your pretty little head to pieces!"

The waiter laughs harshly, green eyes dancing with a deadly gleam, "You don't recognize me Padfoot? I'm hurt. Even after all these years I still have a remarkable resemblance to them." Harry yanked his chin away from the Joker and stepped away, putting some space between them. Joker's eyes are wild, and his red smeared lips have downwards into a snarl.

Studying the boy closely, his eyes widen with disbelief, "Bambi."

"Nice to meet you too godfather." Muffled gasps echo around the large decorated room as the guests watched with wide frightened eyes. They glance between the two, unknowingly shifting closer to the dramatic reunion happening before them.

"You look… so much like him. With Lily's eyes." The Joker remarks, his expressive eyes confused before going still as he remembers the others in the room. "What are you doing here?"

Harry responded slowly, as he knew that he had to tread softly, "As a server? When you murdered my parents-"

"I never killed Lily and James! That rat set me up!"

"- I was sent to my relatives who squandered my inheritance on themselves and threw me onto the streets to die when I was twelve." Harry stared into his godfathers eyes, watching with fascination as his eyes darkened dangerously, "You know, that probably wouldn't have happened if I had had a godfather around."

"They locked me up! They laughed and beat me, called me a murderer, called me filth! I didn't even get a trial before I was thrown into that pit."

"I know. Imagine my surprise when I found out that my escaped convict of a godfather was here in Gotham murdering people and causing mayhem. But you're really not my godfather are you? You're not Sirius." Harry slowly stepped closer, leaving only a few inches between them, "You're the Joker. You share the same body, but you are a completely different person. A different identity."

Suddenly a rasping breath exploded from the Joker, causing everyone to start and stare at him, "Smart boy. I'm not Sirius." His small smile faded from his quirked lips as he stared directly into Harry's jade eyes. "He was too weak, too pure to truly become me. So I made myself. He denied me, said that I wasn't real, but when he broke, when your parents were killed, I _survived_. I took over, and kept him alive when all he wanted was to _die_."

"And you get revenge by killing people you don't know. You pay back society by wrecking it for what it did to the both of you. But… most of all, you do these things to destroy Sirius, don't you? He's inside you, he probably knows what is going on, but you have him locked away. You're hurting him for denying your existence all those years, for locking you in the dark and ignoring you."

"Why so serious? Very good play on words there. Tell me, Joker, what is your plan? Are you really going to keep killing people until they finally kill you? Or is that just what you're waiting for? Those scars- you probably did them to destroy Sirius's looks, to show others that he's as _monstrous_ on the outside as he is on the inside.

"What are you, trying to be my therapist? I have to hand it to you kid, you've got most of it right, but you're missing one little detail. They told us you were dead. You couldn't have survived, no one could. The house collapsed right over the nursery."

"But I _am_ alive. Have been for a while actually, and I definitely plan on staying that way. But-" Harry steps away and pulls a small handgun slowly out of a hidden pocket and aims it at his godfather, "I can't let you hurt anyone else." The Joker quickly aims his gun at the waiter's- no, Harry's- heart.

"Don't play Russian Roulette with me, boy, you will lose and will not like the consequences."

"My parents would hate you, hate what you have become. They would want their friend, their best friend, to protect people, not harm them. And it is my job as a waiter to protect Mr. Bruce's guests. I can't just let you rob them and threaten them, even if you're part of my godfather."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, with The Joker seemingly fighting a battle within himself. Finally, in a completely different voice, he rasped out, "Harry."

"Hello Sirius."

The Joker- no, Sirius now- looked around the room, seeing the scared elite watching them, and his own gun pointed at his godson.

Sirius Black, heir to the Black fortune, and whose body was home to another completely different identity, turned the barrel of the gun slowly toward himself, his face showing stress, and pressed the gun to his temple. "I'm so sorry Harry. I wish I could have been there for you . . . I love you. I always did."

And the gun went off.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Authoress Note:

This was written years ago, and was redone January 19, 2013. Please read and review if you liked it, or even if you didn't like it.


	2. Chapter II: Savior

Why So Sirius?

Heart of a Slytherin

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Panic Attacks, Gun Violence, Hospitals, and Gay Romance.

Everything was loud, too loud for reason. Harry couldn't help but stare at his dead godfather for a long moment before shaking himself out of it. There were things to be done after all. With the death of the most feared sociopath in Gotham, the other thugs had tried their best to escape. Some fled with just the gaudy jewelry they had stolen from the gentlemen and ladies while some tried to escape though the use of hostages, but they really didn't get very far. Emboldened by the dead leader at Harry's feet, the men in smart, expensive suites fought back, eventually managing to subdue the clown masked men long enough to tie them up with colorful ties that had been hastily undon, and even one woman's decorative sash was used.

There was only one man left standing, armed with two deadly pistols that were aimed at anyone who got within five feet of him while he backed himself warily into a corner. Distantly Harry could hear sirens coming towards Wayne's Tower, but he paid them no mind.

The threat of the masked thug was the most pressing matter at hand. Making a split-second decision, Harry quickly leveled a shot at the man's knees with the small gun he hadn't yet used so far that night, and a spray of blood splattered the marble floor as the man yelled from the pain and slumped to the ground, unable to hold up his own weight. But instead of dropping the guns like Harry had hoped, the pain made his fingers twitch on the triggers, and twin bullets ripped through the air in a whistling second. One went far, shattering a rather beautiful vase that held a large bouquet of dark red roses, while Harry had the dubious misfortune of being in the path of the second.

The agony was horrible, Harry decided woozily as his own blood joined the splatters of blood already on the ground around him. He stumbled, but kept his gun steady on the man on the floor before him. But he needn't have bothered. Two younger men wrestled the guns free of the masked man before tying him up just as well as his fellow thugs.

With the threats out of the way and the frightened people around him able to take care of themselves for the moment, Harry had the presence of mind to quickly slip on the safety of his small hand caliber gun. A pretty young woman with golden hair approached him with worry clear in her pale blue eyes and she was kind enough to help him to a chair as pandemonium broke out around him.

Armed police rushed in, taking in the situation with alert but world weary eyes and swiftly carted off the brutes in clown masks before attending to the wounded with care. Most were unharmed, but they were all badly shaken as nerves ran high, hands shook with remembered fear, and as tears were shed. Three middle aged women and an extremely elderly man were clearly in shock, though not much could be done about it until the paramedics arrived. But they could see that there was one man, a young waiter by the looks of it, who was carefully cradling his right shoulder as people fretted around him as grateful _thank you's_ hung heavily in the air.

Remembering to breathe was becoming increasingly difficult as his head swam from blood loss, and as a headache pounded the back of his skull mercilessly. Pressing an embroidered napkin to the bullet wound, Harry let out a low whine of pain as it pulled and throbbed and _hurthurthurt. _He ignored the people around him as they worried and cried, though he did not know why they cried. _Were they hurt? Was something wrong? _He didn't realize that they cried for him, the brave man who had risked his own life to save theirs; the same man who was hurt and for them there was nothing for them to do but wait.

Paramedics arrived not long after with a show of squealing tires and hurried shouts as they rushed to see to everyone as police began to round up the uninjured to take them down to the main station for questioning on what exactly had happened.

Loaded up onto a gurney despite his protests that he was fine, _always fine, _Harry was swept away with thick gauzes wrapped around his right shoulder to stem the blood flow and an oxygen mask firmly placed around his nose and mouth. Moaning and groaning as his head felt as though it would split open from the high pitched sirens and as his body jolted at every bump and turn in the road, Harry's head lolled despite the best efforts from the two female emergency responders.

It seemed to take forever before they arrived at the nearest hospital, with doctors shouting orders and nurses hurrying to prep for an emergency surgery, for the bullet had pierced his right shoulder and was lodged quite firmly in the bone. Harry tried to tell them not to worry, that it would all be okay but the mask hindered his speech and what he did manage to garble out was unintelligible.

Harry's vision was getting more than a little blurry, and unconsciousness beckoned sweetly for him to give in to it. And for the first time in a long time, his body gave in despite his logic dictating that he should listen to those who would know better than him. He firmly ignored the irritating squeals of the nurses around him as they urged him to stay conscious '_for just a little bit longer, come Mr. Potter, just a little bit longer and then you can sleep'. _

But he was already gone.

* * *

**Authoress Note:** I can't even explain how crazy things have been for me lately, and even though this chapter fought me tooth and nail, I decided to post what I had ready. The other two thousand words or so that I had written were scrapped in a fit of rage a few days ago (I may or may not have had a little too much to drink at the time… not my proudest of moments), and I haven't had the time to go back and rewrite it all yet. Please let me know what you think, and if you see any tense changes/problems, I'm sorry but they are my worst enemy and I so desperately need a beta. Any takers?

**Quick Question:** Does anyone want to see Harry have an Animagus form? Tell me what you think it should be- all ideas are welcome!

P.S.- The Poll has spoken: Harry will be a wizard, not a muggle. Thank you for taking the time to vote!


	3. Chapter III: Easton

**Why So Sirius?**

**Heart of a Slytherin**

Trigger Warnings: Please note that this story will contain depictions of childhood bullying, psychological abuse of children, and child neglect/abandonment. I do not condone the use of such cruelty and understand that this is a work of fiction. Homosexual relationships, gay sex, graphic sexual scenes, violence, drugs, guns, murder, mayhem, wizards, squibs, romance and mobs are all a part of this story. If any of this disturbs you, please do not read this story.

Disclaimer: All rights and privileges belong to their licensed, respective owners. This is written solely for personal fun and _not_ for profit.

* * *

-o-

Harry woke slowly, realizing it was the kind of waking that followed a deep healing.

When he tried to open his eyes, his blurry vision was full of tiny little sparks, so he left them closed and carefully considered how he felt. His mouth felt foul and his limbs were heavy, but he was warm and relaxed and truthfully, the pain in his shoulder was a fraction of what it had been. It felt bandaged but he didn't seem to be wearing much else, and presumed he must be in an infirmary until the thought brought a rush of memory.

Foremost was the profound relief of realizing that he couldn't recall one serious injury among Mr. Wayne's guests, but hard on its heels came the realization that he had collapsed and been stripped in front of so many people before his surgery. _They had to have seen him naked when they changed him!_

Mortification jerked his eyes open as he simultaneously felt a weight bump his bed, before he saw an out-of-focus person peering down at him.

"Ah, you're awake. Hold still a minute Mr. Potter." A stranger's voice said, and Harry was forced to blink a few times before his eyesight cleared enough for him to see what was around him clearly. A brightly lit, spacious hospital room met his eyes; he could feel his eyebrows rise in surprise when he noticed a truly enormous amount of flowers and unopened cards that decorated every spare inch around his hospital bed.

Standing at the foot of his bed was a man he had never seen before, though he was clearly a nurse by his dress. He was tall, nearly as tall as Harry himself though he was broader in the shoulders than Harry could ever be. Golden, short cropped hair surrounded the man's head as though it were a halo, and crystal clear blue eyes watched him with a quietness that was instantly calming.

The nurse had a clipboard in his hand, and began writing neatly on it as he peered at the machines before laying a gentle, smooth hand on his forehead. He nodded and hummed to himself before he helped Harry sit up a little, plumping a pillow rather enthusiastically behind his head before hurrying out with a muttered "Wait just a moment dear!"

Not long after, he came back with another nurse in tow, and they presented him with a truly vile cup of _something_ that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up as he struggled to swallow the thick liquid.

How something so foul-tasting could cleanse his mouth, Harry had no idea, and his reward for choking it down was both to feel his head clear dramatically and to have the vile stuff replaced with a tall glass of ice chips that he was trusted to hold for himself with his good arm.

"Drink it up; you need the fluid young man!" The male nurse said as he shifted around the bedside, fussing at the sheets as the other nurse left, muttering something about a doctor. The remaining man had a slightly pained expression on his face that Harry recognized from being around Madam Pomfrey too much- exasperation blended with a hint of something he was too tired to identify.

Lowering the glass to his chest, which had the benefit of holding the sheet in place to preserve his modesty- the extremely thin hospital gown really didn't do much of anything- he looked at his nurse quizzically.

"What time is it?" Harry asked quizzically, though his voice was hoarse and his throat was painful.

"Late morning, though you _have_ been unconscious for several days so that probably doesn't do much for you. It is May twenty-third now. But the most important thing, Mr. Potter, is that you are a crazy fool."

Harry was sure he must have looked like a fish, for the way his mouth gaped open must have been truly comical by the way the nurse's eyes crinkled with mirth. Harry sputtered, speechless, before he let out a quiet laugh. "I haven't heard that one for a very long time Easton," he said with a quick glance at the nurse's nametag.

"Though I'm not surprised, I suppose, since my last friend claimed I had a 'saving people thing." Harry continued, though his smile faded rather quickly as he thought back to what had happened. "I had to do what I thought was right, and that meant taking matters into my own hands when we were attacked… plus, I sort of would like to keep my job you know."

Easton sighed, before gently patting Harry's hand in comfort. "I know. Believe me, I _know_. My younger cousin was one of the women you saved the other night, and my family can't thank you enough for what you've done. You didn't have to do what you did, but we are very, very grateful. My Uncle Thomas made sure that you got this private room to recover in during your stay, and I managed to finagle my way into taking care of you for a bit." The man's eyes glistened a bit in the florescent lighting, and Harry felt his heart tug at the sight as he gripped his nurse's hand tightly in his as they shared their emotions, one stranger to another.

Eventually though, they had to separate when a loud knock came from the other side of the door. "Come in Dr. Haywire," Easton called, picking his clipboard back up as he moved to greet the older gentleman who careened into the room with a harried look on his face. "No! No no no! You cannot come in and speak with Mr. Potter until I deem him medically sound! How many times must I tell that to you _idiot_ officers," the man cried in a heavily accented French voice as he slammed the door shut behind him, his chest heaving dramatically, "And stop bothering my nurses!"

Harry could only watch in bemusement as the man, this Dr. Haywire- _what a perfectly fitting name_- had a whispered conversation with Easton before airily snatching the coveted clipboard from his nurse. "Ah! Mister Potter! How lovely for you to join us in the land of consciousness once more, I was beginning to think that something was wrong with you," the doctor said as he furiously flipped through the neat pages, eyes scanning the information with the sure quickness of someone who knew what he was doing.

"How do you feel Harry- may I call you Harry?" the man asked, his nose twitching as he gave a frazzled smile in Harry's direction. Without even waiting for an answer, he began scribbling furiously on a stray piece of paper, nearly ripping it in his enthusiasm.

Unsure of what the doctor was looking for, Harry gave a small shrug while staring at the doctors unusually long fingers, "Fine, I suppose." He purposely didn't look in Easton's direction, for he was sure that the nurse would be glaring at his terrible and misguiding answer.

A loud humming came from deep within the doctors' throat as he hemmed and hawed for a few moments before turning his fanatical gaze on his patient. "Now," Dr. Haywire said as he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and approached the bed, "Let's see how you are really doing."

_Oh dear. _

-o-

He didn't know how long he had slept for, but he didn't really care.

His throat was raw from the feeding tube that had been shoved down it when he had been in a medical coma, while uncomfortable little plastic tubes were stuck up his nose. They claimed it was to help him breathe, but Harry was sure it was just a torture method designed to keep patients from escaping. According to Dr. Haywire, his heart rate had plummeted a few times during and after the emergency surgery, and that the oxygen mask was to keep him firmly in the land of the living.

Harry tried his best to glare at his current nurse, but the young woman just gave him doleful looks in return as she bustled around the room checking the irritating machines attached to his body.

"Now Mr. Potter, you should be able to see the Police Chief soon, but I doubt you will be able to leave for another day or so." She rambled, and Harry tamped down the urge to throw the TV remote at her; since it probably wouldn't get him anything except a pair of silver cuffs on his wrists and a bored police officer outside his door… or at least, one that wasn't already outside his door on protection detail.

It was during times like these that he missed Easton, the little traitor. Logically, Harry knew that the man had to sleep and eat just like everyone else, but in his present mood he just _didn't_ give a _damn_. Boredom was a key factor involved with Harry's irritation; because he hadn't yet been interrogated by the police on his version of events, he wasn't allowed to watch the television, read the news, or even have a conversation with someone who had not been cleared by Police Chief Officer Gordon. They ddi not want anything to sway him towards one thing or another, or to plant ideas in his mind of what happened.

But isolation was never something that Harry handled well, and he couldn't stop fidgeting as he waited for the man to show up.

On one hand, he just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone, but on the other, he knew that his background story was about to be put through the ringer. _What if it didn't hold up under scrutiny?_ Harry worried. It wasn't as though he had had endless amounts of money or power in order to create a fool-proof Muggle background for himself; he had scrimped and saved for _years_ before he could afford the simple one he had now.

Several long minutes passed, though Harry didn't notice as he twisted his fingers into the thin white sheets. The sound of his hospital room door being opened knocked him out of his thoughts, and he took a deep breath before letting it back out in a long, controlled breath.

_This was it._

He looked up, but instead of meeting the smallish, mousy man that was Chief Gordon, his eyes widened as they connected with the darkest iris's he had ever seen. They were as dark as dark chocolate, and they watched him with a nearly painful intensity before the man they belonged to slowly walked into the room, his footsteps mere whispers against the pale hardwood floors.

He was much taller than Harry would have imagined, standing at around six foot four inches, hair as dark as Harry's own and his fair skin stretched over powerful muscles that were clearly not just there for decoration.

"Harry Potter?" Dark Eyes asked, his face stoic as he stared into Harry's green eyes as though they held the answer to every question the man had ever wondered about.

"I'm Harry Potter, yes, but I don't know who _you_ are." Harry murmured, his husky voice loud in the otherwise quiet room. He wasn't being entirely truthful, for it would take someone living under a rock to not know who the billionaire playboy standing before him was. However, having never been formally introduced, Harry thought it would be best to pretend to not know anything about the man.

The stranger quietly approached before offering a long, calloused hand that was clearly no stranger to hard work, "My name is Bruce Wayne, you were serving at my dinner party when you were… injured," Bruce drawled carefully.

"Oh. Mr. Wayne! Please excuse me for not being dressed properly," the Wizard said as he shook hands with the most famous man in America, if not the world.

"Harry Potter, at your service."

* * *

Authoress Note: Wow... just wow. I can't believe it's been so long since I last updated... but never fear, I have been very motivated to write recently, so expect new chapters for all my stories soon.

OH! If you are a fan of 'Mischievous', please know that I have decided to continue it and that Chapter two is well underway. :)

Please drop a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter.


	4. Chapter IV: A Suspicious Bat

Why So Sirius?

Heart of a Slytherin

Trigger Warnings: Please note that this story will contain depictions of childhood bullying, psychological abuse of children, and child neglect/abandonment. I do not condone the use of such cruelty and understand that this is a work of fiction. Homosexual relationships, gay sex, graphic sexual scenes, violence, drugs, guns, murder, mayhem, wizards, squibs, romance and mobs are all a part of this story. If any of this disturbs you, please do not read this story.

Disclaimer: All rights and privileges belong to their licensed, respective owners. This is written solely for personal fun and not for profit.

-o-o-o-

"Harry Potter, at your service," Harry said, ignoring the way his shoulder twinges in pain as they shook hands. "A terrible business, that dinner party, though I did do my best to make sure I didn't drop any of the plates," he joked, though it fell humiliatingly flat when Bruce Wayne didn't even crack a smile. The silence hung thickly in the air as they both watched one another, one calculating and one with forced cheerfulness.

"Well, it seems I've forgotten my manners. Please, sit Mr. Wayne and inform me why you are here and not Chief Gordon." The Wizard gestured to a nearby chair before managing to situate himself comfortably against the soft pillows behind him.

Wayne nodded and sat down gracefully before clasping his hands together. "Firstly, I am here to personally thank you for your actions the other night. You fought bravely, not for yourself, but for the other men and women that were there in that room with you and you most certainly saved more than one life in the process. You have my thanks, and, as I see from the many flowers, letters, and gifts around me, many others thanks."

Harry opened his mouth to protest- because really, he wasn't allowed to speak to anyone about the incident with the Joker, and apparently this man thought he could just waltz in here and encourage him to break the law- but Wayne held up a hand in the universal motion for silence before continuing to speak.

"Also, according to my butler, Alfred Pennyworth, Wayne Enterprises had hired you on two other occasions prior to the Joker Debacle. I hadn't been in attendance at either of the two parties that you served at, but every manager you worked under gave you glowing reviews. However, while doing a cursory background check on you, there wasn't much of a history for you Mr. Potter, something that is very curious in this day and age with technology tracking our every move."

Harry shifted on the hospital bed but forced himself to keep eye contact with the man before him. If he showed weakness, he had no doubt that the billionaire would press the issue and Harry would wind up on the losing end.

When he kept silent, Wayne's mouth twitched into a mockery of a smile as he leaned closer so their faces were less than a foot from each other. "At the first glance, everything is normal, but after combing through everything it was child's play figuring out that your information was inserted into the mainframes less than five years ago. Either you have a terribly boring and quiet life, something that is terribly unrealistic or there is something off with this whole thing."

"So, we have an obviously forged background for someone that _mysteriously_ appears in normal society, and a dead mass murderer that our topmost government officials can find no trace of… I can't help but wonder if the two are related, especially since the two of you obviously were in some form."

Fisting his hands in the sheets slowly, Harry clenched his teeth for a long minute before he spoke, making sure to not lose complete control of his temper, "I am not allowed to discuss anything with you, nor am I _going_ to speak with you about this in the future. Frankly, it is none of your business, and I am very, _very_ certain that you are not supposed to be here. Please, see yourself out and be sure to not let the door hit your arse on the way out," Harry hissed, irritated at the audacity at the man.

Sure, he had heard that the man was arrogant and used to getting his own way, but he hadn't thought he would be a threat. Wayne stood, and with that terrible smirk still on his face, tilted his head in acknowledgement, "Be sure to know Mr. Potter, if that is even your name, that I will not be letting this go. I do not know your plans, motivations, or even if you were involved with the Joker's insane plans in the past, but I **will** be waiting for you to make a mistake."

"Well, it seems as though I have been dubiously warned. Have a good day then, Mr. Wayne. I am _sure_ our paths will cross often when I am released." Harry murmured before his green eyes tracked the man as he walked out of the door.

Sighing, the Wizard slumped against the bed and ran a hand across his face. _What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to keep the media or other interested parties from snooping around if his information was suspicious? If he could find the Witch who did his information, he might be able to get her to make his Muggle information more in-depth… but that would be highly suspicious and then everything would become even harder for him._

He was so fucked.

-o-o-o-

Chief Gordon was a smaller, unassuming man in his late forties. His face was heavily lined from the stress of being a police officer in the most dangerous city in the United States, and his skin was sallow. Thinning, greying hair sat limply atop his head and thick, boxy glasses aged the poor man even more as Gordon cleared his throat before seating himself tiredly on the chair Wayne had vacated not even ten minutes before. A taller Officer stood neatly in a corner of the room, blending in silently and Harry soon forgot he was even there.

"I am Jim Gordon, Chief of the Gotham City Police Department. I will be conducting your interview to find out your version of events that happened the night of May 20th. This will be recorded and is being witnessed by my subordinate John Blake- do you have any objections?" Chief Gordon asked formally, his voice just as tired as his face.

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but this hadn't been it. Maybe a few minutes of small talk, or even a 'how do you do' but it seemed like it was straight to business. "I agree."

Chief Gordon nodded before glancing at his fellow officer to confirm that the video recording was working correctly. Seeing that it was, he turned back to the Wizard on the bed and asked quite firmly for him to state his full name before telling his story of events.

"My name is Harry Jameson Potter, and it all began the night of May 20th, as I was getting ready for work. You see, something bad has always happened to me on October 31st, and, for the past few years, also on May 20th. My gut was tied up in knots and I was just waiting for something to happen, but it hadn't yet and I was wondering if my curse would skip me this year. Of course, unfortunately, it turns out that it didn't, but I didn't know that at the time."

Officer Gordon looked interested so Harry tried to explain things clearly; though that was something he sometimes had problems with. "I was showered and dressed for work, and was getting my bus pass out from under the couch- where I dropped it the day before- when all of a sudden I felt like a ghost had walked straight through me. I was so cold I could hardly move, and when I finally did, I found myself wracked with the premonition that something terribly _wrong_ was going to happen that night."

Harry reached out with his good arm, but realized too late that the little eating table had been pushed too far away for him to reach. Making grabby-hands at the cup of ice water, Harry waited for Gordon to realize what he wanted. This small, insignificant, childish action brought an amused smile to the man's face, and Harry inwardly grinned as his visitor relaxed and handed him the cold cup.

Sipping it slowly, he balanced it against himself as he continued to speak, his voice talking for a long time as he described everything from his point of view, from the realization that he was finally going to meet the second personality that inhabited his godfathers body, to the painful fact that he might just have to kill him without ever getting the chance to properly talk Sirius Black.

For several hours, Harry spoke, answered questions, and tried to be as truthful as he could considering the circumstances (besides the fact that he was a Magical masquerading as a Muggle). Chief Gordon and even sometimes Officer Blake jumped in and asked questions, getting him to clarify answers or even to just let him know he was rambling- something that was a bad habit of his.

All in all, it was a long time before either of the men left, and Harry was exhausted and thoroughly mind-fucked by the time he was finished with his interview. Easton had finally arrived and immediately began to fuss over his patient, but Harry was too tired to really scold the man for being gone so long and instead accidently fell asleep mid-sentence.

Easton gently covered him with blankets and stroked the Wizard's hair back from his forehead before picking up his clipboard and slipping out of the room.

-o-o-o-

Hey guys, ever feel deep-boned exhaustion? That's how I feel right now. This has not been proof read, so please let me know if there are any major mistakes or plot holes.

This was a short chapter, I know, but it really, _really_ didn't turn out the way I had planned. Wayne was not supposed to go all badass but I rewrote this about ten times and this was the best way to get the plot going.

Just a friendly reminder- I write because it's therapeutic and I like it. I'm not a wonderful writer, and I make mistakes but I try to make things sensible and real. Please don't send me nasty PM's saying that I suck and that I should stop writing. I get enough verbal abuse at work; I don't need it from the website I've been on for over six years.


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